Trading with the Boys

SERENA

My ex-husband’s whole head was as bright red as a tomato, probably because Cole was just about ready to remove it from his shoulders. After hearing the sounds of fighting, we’d flown down the hall together. I’d shown up just in time, lucky for him.

“Eric what the HOLY fuck?!”

He heaved a few more deep breaths from a sitting position on Cole’s bed. Eventually his mouth curled into a wry smile.

“Well hello to you, Serena.”

The guys stared back at me, searching for answers. The problem was I had none. I was just as confused as they were.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I demanded.

“Looking for you,” Eric grunted.

“In my bedroom?” Cole spat.

Now it was Eric’s turn to look confused… as well as angry. “His bedroom?”

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “That’s right. His bedroom. He rents here.”

“He rents David’s bedroom?” Eric asked incredulously.

“It hasn’t been David’s bedroom for years,” I pointed out. “And yes, I had to take on renters. There was no way I could afford this place on my own.”

“Renters?” Eric went on. “As in more than one?”

“Why the hell do you care?” Jacob cut in. “You ditched out, leaving your wife high and dry. Instead of sending help, you sent her divorce papers. Is it so hard to believe she’s renting part of the house?

He put it better than I ever could’ve. In a way that even Eric might understand.

“Can we go to the kitchen or something?” asked Cole. “You guys are bleeding all over my stuff.”

I took Tate’s face in my hands, and for the first time I noticed that he was hurt. He was staring murderously at my ex-husband. I felt pretty murderous myself.

“Yeah,” Tate spat. “Let’s go.”

Down the hall we moved, with Eric lumbering along still holding his own nose. Once in the kitchen he pulled up his usual chair. There was a dress slung over it, and two bottles of wine in the spot where he used to eat dinner.

“What is all this?” my ex-husband demanded bitterly.

No one answered. Cole and I took care of Tate, while Jacob filled a Ziploc bag with ice, wrapped it in paper towels, and handed it begrudgingly to Eric.

“Now,” I said, sliding into the chair beside him. “Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

My patience was at its breaking point. I actually screamed into his face.

“Why the HELL are you even here?” I demanded. “And what are you doing breaking into my house?”

“Our house,” he corrected me.

“Yeah, no,” I snarled. “You’re not on the deed anymore, remember? The judge took care of that. Not that there was any equity here when you left.”

“It’ll still always be our place though,” Eric grunted through the stack of bloody paper towels. “I still have a key.”

He slapped a brass key down onto the table with a muffled ‘clack’. Immediately I took it from him.